Unbroken
by Rosethorn
Summary: Can a wizard burn out? What would make one do so? What would happen when they did? The story of a child the Wardens failed. Original characters entirely. Deals with sensitive subjects eg. child abuse. Enjoy.


Unbroken

File # 2384

Name: Gabrielle Benske

Age: 12

Family: Stefan and Maria Benske (deceased)

Hair: pale blonde

Eyes: pale blue

Height: 5'2"

Weight: 90 pounds-somewhat underweight

Marks: Various small scars: one over left eyebrow curving down towards left temple, about an inch and half long; one bruiselike scar on each knee, about two inches across; scar on mid-back like a shooting star, about three inches across and one inch long.

Location: Found in Kansas City, December 31st, 2008.

History: Only child, unplanned pregnancy. Probable history of physical and emotional abuse, neglect. No sign of sexual abuse. Magic descends from father's side. No apparent friends or family outside the house. Upon attainment of magic at puberty, destroyed house, family and almost self. Wardens arrived after magic died down.

Results: Soulgazer reports image of mannequin of child, shattered on a marble floor, as reflected in a shattered mirror. Magic is gone; tests indicate complete burnout. Child is nonresponsive to external stimuli—swallows when fed and eliminates waste, walks when led, but otherwise must be cared for completely. Recovery extremely unlikely.

Placement: Wizard Saul Rosenburg (retired Warden)

45 West 2nd St, Apartment C

Buffalo, New York, 14201

Excerpts from the Journal of Saul Rosenburg

...The child arrived today. Or I should say, she was brought here today. Totally nonresponsive. Warden Casady informed me that they have tried everything they could to bring some sign of sanity back, with no result. He did not, however, tell me what happened to this child. I wish he had. Knowing what happened to her might give me some insight on how to bring her back.

She's such a fragile little thing, all avian bones and big eyes. Very pale, too; pale blonde hair and pale blue eyes and pale white skin. I think she could almost fade into the background. She certainly faded into the sheets when I put her to bed.

Her name is Gabrielle, they tell me. "God is my might." How ironic.

----

I'm really not certain why they chose me to care for Gabrielle. Oh, I'm not complaining. She's hardly a bother; I feed her when I eat, and the rest of the time she sits on the couch and stares straight ahead into the distance. It was a little worrying at first, but now that I'm used to it, I feel rather odd when she's in bed and no one is watching me the way she does. And of course I receive an extra stipend to care for her. The money is not the reason I accepted this case, but I am over three hundred years old, and firmly retired. Every little bit helps.

Surely there are other wizards, though, better suited to healing a shattered mind and soul. Surely there are other places for this child where she could be cared for more adequately. I don't think an old man is the best caretaker for her.

But then, who would be a good caretaker? At least I am home all day, with nothing to do but care for my garden and see that nothing hurts her. Technically I suppose I should be trying to restore her sanity, but Casady told me in strictest confidence that it's a hopeless case. The Council does not expect now or ever to hear that Gabrielle Benske is alive again.

-----

I am so angry I can barely breathe.

Gabrielle needed a bath, so I gave her one. While I did so I noticed a scar above her eyebrow. Suspicious, so I checked the rest of her body. Two identical scars on her knees, one in the middle of her back, roughly the shape of a shooting star, about three inches across and two inches long. I was cut with a broken bottle once, in a bar fight in my _much_ younger days. I bear the scar on my bicep still. That scar and Gabrielle's are nearly identical.

Tell me, if I were to check her X-rays, would I find evidence of numerous broken bones?

I checked the records. She burned herself out destroying her home, ripped every last mote of magic from her soul in doing so, and all the records say is "probable history of abuse." Not one word more about a mistreatment that must have been horrific, to leave scars like that on the body of an eleven-year-old girl. No wonder the poor child snapped. No wonder she destroyed herself. She must have wanted to escape.

I think that if her parents were not dead, I would kill them myself.

----

I try to make life normal for her now. But what is normal for a child like Gabrielle? She goes for walks with me, and if one did not look at the strange blank expression on her face, one might believe us grandfather and grandchild, simply out for a stroll. I sit her on the couch while I work, or out in the garden among the roses, and I play music for her. I brush her hair sometimes. No response to anything, alas, but I live in hope. Perhaps something will call a memory forth.

I cannot believe she is truly gone. To do so would be to lose faith in everything I have ever believed in; in the strength of the Council, in the ideals of the Wardens, in the knowledge that there is a kind and merciful God. No God worth belief would take everything from a child.

----

I checked the records again a few weeks ago. There's an age given (twelve) but no record of her birthday, so I went to speak with Casady again and surprise! They didn't even bother to check what Gabrielle's birthday was. Ridiculous.

I had wanted to have a small celebration for her, in hopes of triggering some kind of childhood memory, but I wonder if trying would do anything if it's not on her actual birthday. I think instead I will celebrate on the day they brought her to me. February 1st, 2002, I shall bake a cake and find her a present.

Except she would be thirteen now, wouldn't she? An auspicious age. Perhaps this year will be lucky.

----

Needless to say, the celebration failed to awake any spark of sanity in Gabrielle. I did my best. I found a small tiara—can't imagine where I picked it up, really, not at all the sort of thing I would ordinarily have—and I let her wear it all day. She ate her cake, and I put the hairclips I bought for her in her hair. They look a little garish in her hair because she's so very pale. But I did my best. I think I even saw a flicker of a smile. Nothing I can report to the Wardens, of course. They'd dismiss it as an old man's foolish hopes. But I think she was a little happy.

I hope she was a little happy.

-----

Anastasia brought by a group of Wardens in training today. She's looking well. The rumors she's switched bodies are apparently absolutely true, and I could hardly restrain myself from laughing when I saw her. She gave me the finger. There's no respect for age anymore. I thought I taught her better.

Of course, she'd come for a far more somber reason, and the bantering soon stopped. The Wardens have been sending their youngsters through ever since they brought Gabrielle to me. I wondered, at first; you'd think with the war on they'd have better things to do than gawk at a poor little girl. It was only after talking with Anastasia a bit today that I really understood why they keep coming.

It's nothing to do with the war, and everything to do with basic humanity. Gabrielle represents a mistake on our part, one that the commanders never want to make again. And who could blame them? Because of our failure, a child full of life now has a future that consists solely of being led between her bed and my couch, spoon-fed food and perhaps once in a while brought outside to walk.

We have failed this poor child so monumentally that a more total catastrophe could not be imagined. Because of our lack of action she has lost her magic, her family and her mind. And she is thirteen years old. What more could we possibly take away from her?

Perhaps it would have been kinder of the Wardens to execute her.

----

Rereading my entry of a few weeks ago, I can hardly believe myself now. I swing between ridiculous hope and equally ridiculous despair. Sometimes I imagine Gabrielle will never return, and when I die she will simply be shuffled off to some other old man who will lock her in a room and ignore her until she dies. Sometimes I imagine she must wake tomorrow. After all, I try. I've been trying. I keep trying.

She's just a little girl. Oh, merciful God, she's just a little girl.

-----

I'm worried about Gabrielle. She eats little, less than she did to begin with and she is dropping weight she cannot afford to lose. I carry her now more than I ask her to walk. She weighs no more than a feather. I've reported my concerns to the Council. Casady shook his head and said nothing. Anastasia looked troubled; said perhaps it was for the best.

Perhaps she's right. What does await Gabrielle if she awakens? If her magic returns with her mind, she will be put on trial for breaking the Laws of Magic. I have already decided that if that happens I will take responsibility for her. It's ridiculous, anyway; she's a thirteen-year-old girl abused past bearing. If they let off the Dresden boy they'll have to let her off. For God's sake, she'd never even used her magic before that day.

What if her magic does not return? What will happen to her then? She is a child, well, will she live as long as a wizard, even when completely burned out? She will have a home with me for as long as I am alive, but I cannot be sure that will be very long, and what will happen to her then? Her parents are dead, and I cannot imagine anyone on the Council sending her back to them in any case. We are lawgivers, not murderers.

Or perhaps she will never wake. Perhaps she is dying now, before my eyes. Perhaps she died three years ago. Perhaps her body is only now catching up to her soul. Part of me revolts against this very idea—she's only fourteen!—but part of me...well.

Perhaps it _is_ for the better.

-----

Something has happened, and I can hardly credit it.

The Wardens' records on Gabrielle Benske are not only incomplete, they are inaccurate as well. "No apparent friends or family" is certainly false, as one of them arrived at my house today.

He is a friend, not family, for which favor, God, much thanks. Just a boy. I don't think he can be older than twenty. Perhaps even a little younger. He looked so worn, too, as if he's been through battles I cannot even begin to comprehend. He has looked for Gabrielle for three years. His name is Lionel Richards.

Anastasia referred him to me, once he found the Wardens—I suspect that's what took him three years, finding the blasted soldiers. They've been harder to find recently, because of the Red Court incursions, and of course there are so few of them left...but I digress. He begged me to see Gabrielle. I took him in only reluctantly; I was afraid of what he would think when he saw her. I needn't have worried after all. He blamed himself, instead of us.

But here is the miracle: Gabrielle _responded._ Not much, but she moved on her own, just a hair, just a faint movement, but dear God, she moved. Lionel Richards brought some tiny piece of her back. He could be the miracle I've needed. Maybe he could bring her back.

I spoke with him for a while after we put Gabrielle to bed; mostly because I wanted to know what the stuffed animal he gave her was. It was a birthday present; he meant to give it to her the day after she exploded. Her birthday. New Year's Day. I was right. She is fourteen.

-----

...Lionel has been here for three weeks, now, and Gabrielle is eating again. She has gained at least five pounds, and she's beginning to fill out. Her face no longer looks quite so hollow. I look at her and see the child she could have been, but there is still no sense in her eyes.

She is responding, though. Every day, a little more. She never speaks or really looks at him, but she moves. Once I swear I saw her touch his hand while he sat reading to her.

Lionel comes every day. I could not keep him away if I tried. I would not want to.

----

I apologize to whomever is reading this for my handwriting. I would wait until my hands stopped shaking to write this, but I fear I will forget something, and this _must_ be written or I will forget the details. I shall copy this entry out later in better handwriting for my report to the Council.

The Red Court has found me, but you may cease that frightened gasping. They will trouble me no more. This is how it went.

I was sitting with Gabrielle on the porch, and giving her some of my lemonade every so often. We were waiting for Lionel to come and visit—or rather, I was. I'm still not quite sure how much, if anything, Gabrielle understands of what is happening around her, though I know she is still in there. Lionel has proved that at least.

It was dusk. I saw them coming.

I am three hundred and twenty-six years old. I did my best, but I couldn't get Gabrielle inside. She stumbled and fell because I was pulling her too fast, and I would not leave her, not to them, not when she seems to be recovering. So I gathered up what little magic I have and prepared to sell my life dearly. Perhaps I meant to protect her with my death curse. Regardless, I obviously did not need to.

There are details I cannot tell, not even to this journal, not for the privacy and safety of all involved. Let us just say that I learned just how far Lionel would go to save Gabrielle Benske, and let us also add that I would go just as far.

Another small victory. She cried when he hugged her, after.

-----

I shall write this from the beginning, because if I do not, I will not be able to do anything but write one sentence over and over again. So from the very start.

I had just settled Gabrielle in her place on the couch when the knock came. Lionel was here early today. Apparently he couldn't sleep and decided to come and spend some time with Gabrielle before he went to work. Of course he hadn't eaten (silly boy forgot to go shopping again) so I fed him breakfast, then asked him to watch Gabrielle while I went to the store.

He's done this a great deal; in fact, he's actually taken over much of Gabrielle's care. He does everything from brushing and braiding her hair to feeding her at mealtimes. As fussy as an older brother he, and really, up until today I wasn't sure if I felt sorrier for her or for him. For the child who would probably never recover or for the boy who would never give up on her. At least she will always have someone to take care of her. But I am digressing again.

The shopping is irrelevant so I shall skip to my return. Juggling keys and grocery bags, I finally managed to finagle myself into the house. I have trouble carrying things, as was demonstrated when I promptly dropped everything I was carrying.

Lionel knelt on the floor, holding Gabrielle, and both of them were shaking. "What _happened?" _I exclaimed, hurrying over, and stopped dead in my tracks when Gabrielle lifted a tear-stained face to look at me. Actually _look _at me; there was sense and sanity in her eyes, and I have no doubt she was really seeing something. I felt about to drop dead of shock.

"She's back," Lionel said softly. "You're back, Gabrielle." His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been fighting tears of his own.

He did most of the work comforting her. I just stood and stared for a while, totally unable to move. Of course, Lionel made no sign that he intended to release her anytime soon, holding her close to him and stroking her pale hair.

I somehow managed to get myself to move eventually, something that will puzzle me to the end of my days. I knelt beside them and touched Gabrielle's hair very gently. "Does she...do you remember anything?" I asked. _Of me_, I meant. I didn't expect her to, but I must admit I hoped.

Gabrielle looked up at me again, her eyelashes spiky from tears. "I...I don't..." she began, and began to cry again. "I don't know, I'm sorry, I don't remember..."

Lionel shushed her gently. "It's okay, baby," he said. "It isn't your fault. You haven't been yourself."

"It's all right," I added, though I _was _disappointed. But again, I hadn't expected her to. As Lionel said, the child I had cared for was not Gabrielle. "It really isn't your fault, sweetheart." I got to my feet somehow. "I think I'd best go report this to the Council."

"The Council?" Lionel asked, his tone wary. I can hardly blame him (and don't be fussing at me, Anastasia. The boy got the runaround from every one of your subordinates before you took a hand. Besides, most of the Council can go stick it where the sun does not shine).

Anyway. I spoke mostly to Gabrielle; I can only imagine that she not be happy to be treated as if she was still gone. "They won't be interested in you anymore, sweetheart, I just think they ought to know. Anastasia in particular will be happy to hear this."

The boy visually relaxed, even loosening his protective grasp on her. Gabrielle herself looked mostly confused, but she relaxed a bit anyway, I think in response to Lionel. "Thank you," she whispered, then abruptly wriggled her way out of Lionel's arms and hugged me hard. "Thank you," she said, again.

I almost cried. I am not ashamed to say it.

There were more tears, and conversations. Lionel told me that he soulgazed Gabrielle in an effort to see what was wrong with her so he could better fix it. Now, on the one hand, I wish he'd asked me; her original soulgaze is on record, after all. But if he hadn't soulgazed her, she never would have returned. For it was immediately after the soulgaze broke that she woke.

Anastasia theorizes that she recognized Lionel and decided it was safe to return. It seems a sound theory, for soulgazes do go both ways. However, I think that the soulgaze was merely the catalyst for a process that otherwise would have taken quite some time. She was waking. Lionel was bringing her back to herself. She merely needed time.

She remembered me.

_A/N: Lionel Richards belongs to Dark Puck, and is used with her kind permission. Thanks also to her for playing out the last journal entry with me. All other characters with the exception of Saul Rosenburg and Gabrielle Benske belong to Jim Butcher._


End file.
